Borrowed Time
by Put My Earmuffs On The Cookie
Summary: Originally called A Piece of Me. A life of obligations and rules - a life that has been set out for her. When Wendy leaves for Neverland, plans are unsettled, and consequences will have to be faced.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I've always loved Peter Pan. This just popped into my head, 9 o'clock at night, during study leave. And I couldn't stop writing. I've never written any Peter Pan fanfics, so I hope this one is alright.

I'm not sure if I should leave this as a oneshot or continue.

Nevertheless, enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 1**

* * *

"Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane." - Morgan Freeman's _Red_ in _The Shawshank Redemption_

* * *

_"Once upon a time, there was a girl called Cinderella who lived in a far distant land you all probably haven't heard of. She was rather pretty, and had two trusted friends - a raccoon called Joe and a cat called Mitt._

_Now Joe and Mitt were pretty smart for animals. She'd met them a while back, way before this story started..."_

"How?"

_"Remember the story about the haunted forest?" _

"Oh yeah!"

_"Anyway, Joe and Mitt were the ones who found the hidden treasure map to a large pile of gold and treasure and asked Cinderella to help. The treasure, she said, would free her family from the evil clutches of the nasty one-eyed golem."_

"Last time, it was the story about that golem, right?"

_"Yes. Now, the problem was, there was a pirate who was after this treasure too. He was a handsome man by the name of Piers..."_

* * *

From the first day that Wendy, her brothers, and the ex-Lost Boys left Neverland, Peter Pan watched them.

He watched them grow up, and, like lonely, desperate children, he wished he grew with them too. He wished the Boys were still with him, running around Neverland, terrorizing Hook, following him on his escapades (though he would never admit it).

He wished John and Michael Darling still with him - John, who fervently followed the Lost Boys and the Indians, and Michael, who looked up to him with adoration.

But most of all, he wished Wendy, Wendy, the girl who had given him her thimble, who had stirred unknown feelings within him, had stayed. He had thought of her as an annoying pestilence as first, but she was a good storyteller. He missed her stories, her tales spun from silken threads that wove into each other to continue, forevermore.

She never ended her stories. From the first day she started telling them to the last day of her stay in Neverland, she left them - no, she didn't merely leave them; she made endings that weren't really endings, but more like beginnings, making you hang onto every word that came from her ruby lips, making you beg for more.

It was cruel, but enthralling.

And so Peter Pan watched them grow, he watched Wendy grow into a beautiful teenager, he watched as John, Michael, and each of the Lost Boys departed for 'boarding school' (whatever that was), and came back every Christmas and summer.

It was so lonely.

Tinker Bell, his loyal companion for many years, had died a while back. Peter didn't remember when, but he felt the loss wrack his young body, but he knew it was the way. Fairies had short lives from a human's point of view, but to them, it was a long while.

But he would see her again someday. The Fairy Queen had mentioned something about rebirth among the fairies - to make up for their life spans. Peter, like every other inhabitant of Neverland, lived forever, unless they were somehow killed. Humans never aged - unless they felt like they wanted to.

And Peter wanted to grow up. Though he had once vowed never to, the loneliness ate at him. Before the appearance of Wendy and her brothers, he would not have had such wishes. Before the arrival of Wendy, he would have never wanted to grow up.

But he now did. All the people he cared about were growing up, and he wished to grow. And he did. His unruly hair became more unruly, his legs longer, and his lean frame filling out just right. But his eyes never changed. The mirthful, mischievous depths never changed.

In one recent spar with Hook, he had noticed Peter's change.

"Where's your darling Wendy? She went home, didn't she?"

Peter decided not to dignify that with a response. The whole of Neverland knew of Wendy's return, for she had touched them all deeply with her presence, even for a short time.

Hook had twirled his cutlass then, to try and fake a jab at Peter. But Peter never fell for his feigning - there was always a little twitch in his eye that Peter picked up. "You changed for her, didn't you, Peter Pan. You grew up."

Hook was starting to rile him. "Of course! Everyone grows up sometime!" he snarled, and started attacking more aggressively, jabbing his blade forward, towards Hook's chest. But Hook managed to block the blow, a smirk forming on his thin lips.

"Neverland isn't the same as where she is, Pan. She's going to grow up and forget about us and Neverland, get married to a man, have her own children, and grow older, until she becomes an old woman. And then she's going to die." Hook's amused face made Peter want to slash him into pieces, and feed him to the ticking crocodile, bit by bit.

But his words had implanted a seedling in Peter Pan's mind. _She's going to grow up and forget about us and Neverland, get married to a man..._

A foreign emotion pierced his heart. The forgetting part was worrying, but for some reason, it didn't bother him as much as the 'married to a man' part was. He didn't know what 'married' meant, but it didn't feel right. For Wendy to do anything with another man made him feel angry and it felt like something had scorched his chest.

She couldn't forget about Neverland. She couldn't get 'married' to a man. She couldn't have children with that man. She couldn't grow old and die.

Peter Pan would not allow that to happen to Wendy. Those words that Hook said would never happen.

Ever.

* * *

Contrary to the beliefs of Michael, John, and the rest of the ex-Lost Boys, Wendy had never forgotten about Neverland. In fact, her dreams were constantly plagued by the roguish boy with the sparkle in his eye, his unruly, yet silken hair that she could run her fingers through and who she had given her first kiss to.

She remembered the stories she told the Boys and Peter - and she did continue them after they left Neverland. In truth, they were almost parallel to her life. Cinderella was the embodiment of Wendy herself, Joe and Mitt were of all the boys, and Piers was Peter.

Of course, she made it interesting with plots that wound round all the characters, some of which never even happened. If she had removed them, it would have been obvious, even to the children, who she was talking about. However, as time passed by, the stories wound down - there was no more with Pan, and the boys were now gone; they had now grown up, and were far too busy for such things.

But Wendy still held on. Hoping.

But her father, the ever-conventional Edwardian man, was tied to reality. He understood the arrival of the Lost Boys, and had adopted them, but he had told her to forget Neverland.

"Daughter," he had stated solemnly one night, "You are of marriageable age. You should be out there, finding a suitor, finding a husband, and not holding onto your childhood. You have grown up."

Despite her protests, Wendy knew it was her obligation. She, at the age of sixteen and a little more, was supposed to be ready to find her future husband. But she would never forget her first love, the first boy she had given her 'thimble' to.

Peter Pan - the boy who haunted her dreams, who was the subject of her daydreams.

It had been years. She had left the window open, in vain hope that he would whisk her away to Neverland again. Foolishly, she had stayed awake, lying in bed, her eyes trained on the horizon and the London rooftops for the boy, until she grew weary and fell asleep.

Sometimes she thought she felt a presence nearby. Sometimes, in the morning, she thought she saw handprints on the window.

The windows were now closed.

And Wendy was in a pretty baby blue dress, ready to go to a nearby party with her mother and aunt, to meet with Gavin. She had met him a while back, during McIntyre's cocktail, and he had been a gentleman, his eyes sparkling similarly with mischief.

Like Peter's.

Wendy knew her aunt was trying to get her and Gavin together, but she couldn't help but think it was a little rushed. She had no problem with his flirting, or his small gifts, but it seemed with each meeting, he became bolder, to Aunt Millicent's delight.

She thought it was too much. Her mother, on the other hand, knew what was happening and tried to intervene. Like all mothers, she could read her daughter's feelings like a book, and knew it was too fast for comfort.

Mrs. Darling could see that her darling daughter, Wendy, was still hung up on the handsome boy who had stolen her heart.

* * *

Peter had returned, determined to see Wendy, and see if she had forgotten about him and Neverland. But she was heading into a carriage, in a beautiful dress, along with her mother and aunt.

And so he followed her, hiding in the shadows, until they reached a nice manor in the countryside, the bright lights of the ballroom visible. It was at this point Wendy and chaperones exited the carriage, and Peter took off, climbing onto a tree in the garden to peer into the ballroom.

It was magnificent.

The furniture was gold-trimmed and white, the floor a marble grey, and above the masses of dancers, a crystalline chandelier of gold, reflecting its own light, illuminating the large room.

He watched as his beautiful Wendy entered, with her mother and aunt behind her, appearing to look for someone. The beady eyes of Wendy's aunt caught someone heading their way, and a smile appeared on her face; Peter's eyes followed.

A young man, dressed in black, had taken his Wendy's white-gloved hand, and planted a thimble on it.

Outrage. The fires in Peter's chest burned ferociously, as he watched that _bastard_ take give _his_ Wendy a thimble. Peter wanted to burst in there and whisk Wendy away, but for some reason, he felt he couldn't.

He observed as the fiend pulled his Wendy amid the crowd of dancers, swaying slowly to some song that Peter had never heard before. His Wendy placed her delicate hands on the wretch's shoulder, and Peter felt the smouldering rage envelope his body as he saw the brute grabbed her small waist with his grubby hands.

It was pure torture. The pricking at his heart did not stop; it had increased, and he felt as if his blood was trickling down, down to the earth.

By the time the music stopped, Peter felt like he had sat there, on the tree, for eternity. And then the killing blow came.

The scoundrel tipped her backwards slightly, and gave her a heated thimble.

The pain in Peter's heart was unbearable, threatening to shatter it forever. Wendy had gifted him with that thimble - the thimble on the lips. Her soft, pliant lips should have only touched his, not some scumbag's!

If Wendy remained in the thimble for any longer, Peter felt like he would die on the spot.

As if some God had answered his heart's desperate cry, Wendy tore away, and ran, through the crowd, onto the balcony, away from the knave, into the gardens. It was then, Peter's chest felt like a great weight had been lifted off it.

* * *

Wendy's hands were desperately wiping at her mouth. Gavin's kiss made her feel... dirty. And now, she was wiping away the remnants of it, wiping away the kiss as tears streaked down her porcelain cheeks.

Her kiss had been reserved for one only. The one who took her to Neverland. The one who had stolen her heart.

The one who would never return to claim it.

A cool breeze had blown past, tossing her hair into disarray. But Wendy didn't care. Gavin had overstepped his bounds. Gavin had taken something she wasn't willing to give.

A kiss.

And her heart screamed betrayal at her even letting him close to her. It was screaming for the one who could calm her frayed nerves with a simple smile, who could make her feel whole.

She could hear steps coming up from behind her. _Peter?_

* * *

Peter cursed.

He was about to swoop down to Wendy, and take her away to Neverland, but someone had come. Quickly, he zoomed back to his hiding place, and watched as Mrs. Darling walked onto the balcony, talking to Wendy.

Mrs. Darling was a kind woman, unlike her sister-in-law, Wendy's aunt. She was the mother Peter would have liked, but he would not leave Neverland. He watched as the older woman wiped away his Wendy's tears, hugged her, and escorted her out of the manor.

Dammit! It should have been him wiping her tears, taking away her pain, making sure her smiles and laughter was always there. It should have been him.

Disappointed, he followed the carriage in the darkness back to London. Back to the Darlings' house. There, he would make his presence known

* * *

Her mother always knew what was wrong with her. With one look, her mother always knew her feelings.

She was soothing, taking away her tears, with delicate dabs of her handkerchief.

"Gavin was too forward, my darling. I'll talk to Aunt Millicent - she'll tell him to tone down on all this. If you don't want to see him, dear, just tell us."

Wendy meekly nodded, and let herself be guided into the carriage, taking her back home. She missed the boys, who were all in a faraway boarding school, their imaginations crushed as calculating logic took over.

John had been one of the first to dismiss Neverland. He claimed that Neverland was just a childish little game that they had played when they were young, and the Lost Boys were not from Neverland after all - their parents had adopted them from a nearby orphanage.

But Michael still believed. During one of the holidays when all the boys were back, he confessed, "We don't mention it anymore. John used to talk about it a lot, and the boys teased us. Then the headmaster caught the wind of it and told him to stop such 'childish fantasies'. When he didn't stop, he and a couple of the Lost Boys were caned hard. They never spoke of it again."

It had broken Wendy's heart. Her beloved brother, along with some of the boys, had been oppressed by the system. The system, where 'common sense' reigned and imagination was cast off as some illusory child's play.

As she climbed the steps to her bedroom, she hoped - no, she _wished_ Peter Pan would come and save them from the constraints of society. Like clockwork, she opened the window, before changing into her nightclothes and slipping into bed.

The moment she turned towards the window, to see the moonlight filter through the windows and into the room, she saw a familiar silhouette.

* * *

_"They found the treasure, and saved Cinderella's family."_

"What about Piers and Cinderella? Didn't they live happily ever after?"

_"Well, the thing was, Cinderella never told Piers what she felt. And she didn't know what Piers felt about her either."_

"So what happened?"

A sad smile found its way onto Wendy's face. _"That's a story for next time."_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hello all! After much debate, I decided to restart this story :D

I know it's been more than a year, but thank you all for reviewing what was originally a one-shot which I decided to continue.

I'm thinking of changing the title of this story, since the current one doesn't fit with where I want to go with this.

Happy New Year, everyone!

* * *

**Chapter 2**

* * *

"And in that moment, I swear we were infinite." - _The Perks of Being a Wallflower_ by Stephen Chbosky

* * *

"Why did Piers and Cinderella always argue?"

_"Yes, why did they? Well it's like how people try to change the subject. Piers and Cinderella tried to avoid confronting their feelings about each other, and so they argued. It kept them away from talking about their feelings."_

"That's stupid_. _Piers should've just told her he liked her a lot and asked her to stay with him on the ship."

_"Sometimes it's not quite that easy_ _to do_._"_

* * *

His moccasin-covered feet were _just_ on the sill (courtesies of Tiger Lily, who had just gotten married the past year) - just halfway from actively going in, and halfway from leaving. After all, how long had it been since she had seen him?

And he remembered her terrible temper when she was still younger. He hoped she wasn't angry at him for not showing up earlier. But then again, she had been busy, hadn't she?

Peter's face contorted into a scowl. Like with that fellow at the ball.

Wendy, on the other hand, was quiet. _Perhaps this was a dream again - an apparition dreamed up by her love-sick mind to appease her heart._ She moved closer, her small, feminine hands ghosting over his forearm, afraid.

It would've been a truly cruel trick of the mind if she woke up once she touched him. But she steeled herself and she touched him - with the lightest of touches. The moment her fingers felt his solid arm, she let go of a breath she was holding.

This _apparition_ of Pan had grown up. He looked about her age - Wendy had once feared that she would grow older, as Pan remained a child.

She couldn't love a child _that way_. Thank heavens he had grown.

"Peter?" she whispered, her voice cracking with unspoken emotion, "Where have you been?" Her eyes said everything - her sadness, her loneliness, a smidgen of anger ... and something else Peter couldn't pick up.

"Wendy, I'm here." He stepped into her room, and removed her delicate hand from his arm, holding it in his own larger, slightly callused hands. And in response to her question, he mumbled, "I've been here and there."

He had much to tell her. But he didn't know if she would listen to him. Then again, she almost never did.

Her sadness morphed itself into a ball of anger. "Here and there? And you never visited me?" She yanked her hands out of his, and Peter felt naked without her touch. "I would've gone with you!"

_Because I love you._

She was being unreasonable. "You were the one who wanted to leave in the first place!" Pan hissed angrily, "You wanted to go home - to come home to _this_!"

_You left me._

She looked like he had slapped her. He had no right. This was where her family was - where her _life _was. And she promptly told him so.

The old Pan - Peter the child - would have begged her to come along, and Tinker Bell would have shimmered angrily, telling Peter to leave her alone. But Pan had now grown up. The words had pierced his heart, but he refused to acquiesce.

"Then you have no right to ask such things of me, since I'm no longer part of your life, _Wendy Darling_." He spoke each word, with the intent to maim and injure her heart, as she did to his. "Have a nice life."

He said those words with such finality - Wendy was stunned. What had happened to the boy she had once known - the boy she had kissed, all those years ago?

He had thrown away his boyhood, knowing he could have remained what he wanted to be - a boy. But perhaps he had wanted to grow up in the end for reasons unknown to her.

Looking up again, she watched as Peter walked to her windowsill, preparing to climb out and fly back to Neverland.

_Have a nice life_.

He was walking out of hers now.

_Have a nice life_.

Her blood rushing through her veins, she ran to her window as he jumped out. She clambered as fast as she could, and jumped, her arms reaching out, hoping she could perhaps hold him, and tell him to stay.

So she could leave with him too.

The human eye is fast, but human reflexes are terribly slow. And Wendy was no star-class athlete - her Aunt Millicent had maintained that running was unlady-like and to look best in corsets, she had to eat less.

"Peter!"

Wendy's fingers glanced Peter's moccasin as he flew upwards and gravity claimed her, pulling her down, towards the cobbled streets of London.

* * *

As soon as heard her voice, he spun around, hoping she had changed her mind. He was surprised to see Wendy, in her almost translucent nightgown, jumping out of her window, towards him.

_She has no pixie dust!_

And almost immediately, he saw shock overtake her features as she began to fall, the force of her own weight pulling her down, with her nightgown whipping against her sides. Spurred into action, he dove down, faster than his Wendy was falling, and caught her in his arms.

Wendy instinctively curled into his arms as he slowly rose back into the air. He sighed, feeling her soft curves against his chest, before turning to her. "Stupid," he grunted, "Don't do something that stupid again." The corners of his lips turned up and Wendy knew he was back to the Pan she had fallen in love with.

She had been forgiven. The tension melted away.

A massive weight had been lifted from her chest, and she breathed in deeply, smelling the earthy, musky smell exuding from Peter. He grinned at her. She stuck her tongue out.

"Lead the way to Neverland, kind sir!" she called out, feeling freer than she had ever felt since she was a young girl.

And the boy cradling the girl flew towards the shining star, silently noting how perfect she felt in his arms.

* * *

"That was stupid."

"_What do you mean?"_

"Cinderella was just being stupid. She could've gone without all that hassle and just told him that she wanted to travel with him. Piers should have just told her he wanted her to sail with him."

* * *

Fresh roses. They were hard to come by, since winter was fast approaching - but he would do anything for Wendy. According to Mrs. Byrne, his dear Wendy loved flowers of any sort.

But Gavin wasn't a miser. He wanted Wendy to have the best flowers in the stall, and the shopkeeper had hastily told him the roses were his best ones. They looked worthy of Wendy, and so Gavin had paid the man, bought a newspaper, and headed towards the Darling household to woo Wendy.

Mrs. Byrne had warned him off kissing Wendy too soon. She had heard from her brother's wife that Wendy had her very first kiss stolen by a ragamuffin and remained in a _delicate_ situation with kisses. However, she reassured him, that Wendy would most likely be engaged to him by the end of the year.

First of all, however, he had to apologize for being too forthright. He should not have kissed her last night, at least not a full kiss on her lovely lips, without her allowing it. He had taken too many liberties with her.

But he needed to make something clear to her today. He, Gavin Smith-Goddard, was going to court her officially, so all dilly-dallying would stop.

If she wanted him - that is.

Climbing the steps to the townhouse which the Darlings lived in, he hammered the door with the old brass doorknocker. He heard steps - probably Mrs. Darling's, or the maid's - hurrying towards the door, and looked around.

When he married Wendy, she would no longer have to live like this. A keeper like Wendy deserved much more than she had.

He noticed her window overlooking the street was wide open, with her gauzy white curtains fluttering out. His Darling was already awake, and probably awaited his arrival.

The door swung open, and a flustered maid greeted Gavin, quickly wiping her hands on her white pinafore. "Good morning, Mister Smith-Goddard," she stuttered, letting him in and taking his tweed overcoat and hat. She rushed to put the two away, only to be stopped by Gavin.

"Excuse me, but could you tell me where I could find dear Wendy?" The maid looked aghast and hurried off, muttering to herself and shaking her head.

Gavin spun to see Mrs. Darling lightly clearing her throat, in the same, delicate manner that Wendy did, to get some lucky man's attention. "My daughter is currently preoccupied, I'm afraid."

Either it was some excuse not to see him after last night, or she was well and truly busy with something else. "May I ask what she is occupied with, at the moment?"

Mrs. Darling gave a slightly apologetic smile. "Her other suitor, Peter, is in town at the moment and has her."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Many many apologies for dropping this story off. I only recently returned to the world of fanfiction, and remembered I had this hanging around! I hope many of you aren't too disappointed by the non-existent updating (life has been _very_ busy these past four/five years!) - I hope to finish this once and for all by the end of summer (at least!).

Onwards with this long-delayed update!

* * *

**Chapter 3**

* * *

"We drop our youth behind us like a boy  
Throwing away his toffee-wrappers.  
We never see the flower,  
But only the fruit in the flower; never the fruit,  
But only the rot in the fruit.  
We look for the marriage bed  
In the baby's cradle;  
we look for the grave in the bed" – _Rising Five_ by Norman Nicholson

* * *

He called upon The Honourable Mrs. Millicent Byrne the next day to discuss Wendy's new suitor. The woman had never mentioned anyone else, let alone this Peter fellow Mrs. Darling had named.

After a mediocre cup of Darjeeling – in what he would have called his mother's third-finest china – the older woman bustled into the sitting room, and Gavin took in her 'morning appearance'. Her hair had started to grey, but it still held the faint lustre of youth the way she had coiffed it. What was egregious, however, was how she attempted to fit her voluminous body into a corset, and then into a gown that would have suited Wendy much more.

"Hello, Gavin," she simpered, almost plopping onto the gaudy Rococo-esque settee, "What can I do for you this morning?" Her pudgy fingers, impeded by her garish rings, had tried to pick up the delicate teacup left for her, but she almost knocked it off the coffee table.

"I wasn't aware that I was not the only person courting your dear niece, Madame. Imagine my surprise when I showed up to the Darling household…"

The woman almost dropped both her saucer and cup of tea on herself in shock, and her rouged bottom lip dropped. It was truly an awful sight, Gavin thought silently. He only tolerated such crass _nouveau riche_ behaviour from the Byrnes because of their sponsorship of Wendy. Otherwise, they would not have been invited to subsequent _ton _parties after McIntyre's.

Regaining composure, she had the sense to put down her cup and saucer. "I was unaware that anyone else was courting her, Gavin. As her sponsor, I would have known!" she huffed indignantly.

"Mrs. Darling mentioned it was someone by the name of Peter?"

Her eyes flashed dangerously. "Don't worry, Gavin. I shall have a chat with my dear sister-in-law about this, and find out what all this _nonsense_ is about." She gave him a saccharine smile, and continued, "Don't you worry about a thing."

* * *

As the smell of the brackish sea hit her nose, Wendy's heart was at ease. She knew she had returned to her other home – not the one she came from in Bloomsbury; nor the Byrne house in Kensington. Peter, on the other hand, was trying to ignore scent of lavender gently tickling his nose. It was soothing him, reminding him that his Wendy was by his side, rather than at a distance.

They touched down in a copse of trees she recognized; and beyond the copse was the Wendy House, just as she'd remembered it.

"I haven't picked up any Lost Boys since you left," Peter said, "I didn't have a mother for them to tell them stories anymore." Wendy looked at him, slightly shocked.

"But what about adventures or vanquishing Hook and his cronies? Surely you must want some companionship?" If he had been alone since she'd left, along with her brothers and the now-ex-Lost Boys…

He shook his tousled head, and guided her to the entrance of his underground home. "I've still had adventures, and I haven't exactly been alone. The Indians are still here, and Tiger Lily often invites me over to the camp."

Seeing how he'd aged, Wendy presumed that Tiger Lily had too. Wendy expected Tiger Lily to be as graceful as her name, her body filled out in the right places, and her dark ebony hair cascading down her sides like the Indian Princess she was. And given the outfits she had seen on the adults the last time she was here, she wouldn't be surprised if her appearance would turn a few heads, namely Peter's.

Unlike her. She was the little awkward girl who blossomed into an older, but just as awkward young lady – no, not even a lady. Unlike the other young _ladies_ at the ton parties she'd met, she couldn't sing sweetly, paint dazzling landscapes or embroider delicate patterns on various fabrics. All she could do was play the pianoforte to a level that was far under par, and after that disastrous event at her aunt's parlour, she did not touch one again.

She wasn't of their sort of gentle breeding either. In the ton parties, she stuck out like a sore thumb. Although Aunt Millicent, who had married well, had offered to sponsor her since she and Uncle Stephen had no children of their own, her ensemble could never match up to theirs. They always had the newest fashions on, fresh from the fashion houses of Paris, while hers would often be a season or so late.

Her aunt had tried hard to make her fit in. After all, it wasn't just her parents pinning their hopes on their daughter leaving the nest soon and finding a suitable marriage; Aunt Millicent had also made it her prerogative to ensure she was among the crème de la crème of London to select a fine husband.

Which led her to thoughts of Gavin. She didn't want to think of him, while she was here on her island paradise, far away from the obligations and rules of London.

"And this'll be your bed," Peter stated, pointing out her reverie. "Are you feeling alright, Wendy?"

She nodded, and, out of the blue, asked, "So do you think Tiger Lily is pretty?"

His boyish grin contorted into a confused frown. It was an odd question to bring up, but he answered her anyway. "Oh yes, she's grown up as well. She's one of the prettiest women in the tribe now."

_You silly girl. You didn't want to know the truth, so why did you ask?_ she chided herself, feeling inadequate. How could she, a mere banker's daughter, compare to an Indian Princess, let alone one who Peter thought was one of the prettiest women in her tribe?

He continued on, not noticing that she had gone quiet. "She also made these for me, you see?" he spoke excitedly, pointing at his brightly beaded moccasins, "They're very comfortable."

Another skill she lacked. Knowing the Indians' culture, Tiger Lily had probably prepared the skins herself, before stitching them into the moccasins that fit his feet perfectly, and designed the intricate beadwork on them.

Perhaps Peter was lost to her then. Perhaps her long absence had not, as stories went, made his heart fonder, but turn from her to Tiger Lily, who had always been in Neverland with him. Her heart grew heavier as the thought settled within her; that he had not held a torch for her for as long as she had for him, during her long absence.

With this weighing heavily on her thoughts and heart, she barely acknowledged Peter leaving the underground home for something he said he needed.

* * *

"Cinderella was just being stupid. She could have just asked Piers if he was courting the Indian Princess, and saved herself all that trouble!"

"_Well, darling, it's not always that easy to think like that at the time. Retrospectively, I'm sure Cinderella realized she was being silly. But don't you think that Piers should have said something to Cinderella about it, or realized she was upset?"_

"I wouldn'tve known if I was Piers."

* * *

When Mary Darling entered her daughter's room that morning, she had known that her daughter had left with Peter. The white casement windows were wide open, with the curtains flapping wildly out. Nearing the window, she had noticed a glittery dust by the sill, and smiled.

It was Peter. She had met him once as a young girl, but it always had been fun and games on his isle of Neverland. But she had settled down with George, and raised three children, telling them stories of Neverland. She had listened happily when her boys had come back with tales of adventures, along with her newly-adopted boys – but she recognized the changed look in Wendy's eyes.

There was only one reason for the dazed, dream-like look in her daughter's eye, and she had known who had woven his spell on her. She had accepted it – after all, she had also been a starry-eyed girl once. However, she had thought it to be temporary, a passing fancy that would leave once Wendy had grown.

After the situation with Gavin, she had realized it wasn't the case. Her daughter was still very much infatuated with Peter, and Peter thought of her enough to take her away again. There was no way she could call her daughter back, and so all she could do was wait until Pan returned her daughter.

Maybe she should not have dropped Peter's name to Gavin when he passed by later in the day to drop what appeared to be roses for Wendy as an apology. Knowing her sister-in-law's insistence in securing a well-to-do husband for Wendy, and having garnered Gavin's attention, Mary knew Millicent would do everything to ensure Gavin remained interested in Wendy.

"Mary," Millicent had intoned, in her girlish squeal, "He's related to Viscount Hambleden! This could be such a boon, if Wendy marries him." At the time, Mary had smiled it off, knowing her sister-in-law's obsession with raising her family status.

Hearing the knock on the lounge door, she turned to see Millicent striding through the doors, an indignant look on her face, while the poor maid, Annabelle, trailed behind her large form. "Good afternoon, Millicent," Mary Darling said, pointing to the sofa opposite her, "Would you like a seat and a cup of tea?"

Moodily, Millicent Byrne plunked onto the well sprung sofa, and waved the frightened maid off for some tea. She raised her eyes challengingly to Mary, and asked with a hint of anger, "So where is dear Wendy at the moment?"

* * *

A/N: Reviews would be much appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Many thanks to Butterfly Dreamer767 for reviewing and those who have put me on the favourites or alert list!

I've decided to change the title and summary - _A Piece of Me_ was meant to be a working title. I've always been terrible at writing summaries as well, and hopefully this newer one will jazz things up a little.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

* * *

"The first symptom of love in a young man is timidity; in a girl boldness." – Victor Hugo

* * *

His trustworthy sources had revealed _her_ return to Neverland. Of course, the foolish boy must have whisked her from her _other_ life. He was a selfish, obnoxious little fool.

Captain James Hook puffed the acrid cigar, looking at the sunlight fade and the skies become purple; then darken from his cabin on the Jolly Roger. It was his life now – no longer an Eton boy, wandering through the halls at Balliol, or even Blackbeard's boatswain. He chuckled, setting down the stubby remain of his cigar. He would much rather be a Captain on his own ship, rather than go back to be a ruddy boatswain on someone like Teach's boat.

Blackbeard's ship was full of heathens and morons. The Jolly Roger wasn't any better, but at least he had the power to punish or maroon idiots.

Some days, he wished he hadn't insulted the old crone. They had taken over a merchant ship, and on it was a leathery old witch, her ochre skin worn and tattooed. The rest of the passengers had bluntly ignored her while muttered away, fingering at her talismans and charms. He was younger then, and in a fit of pique, had grabbed her charms and thrown them into the sea when she refused to listen to his orders. In a rage, the crazed woman had cursed him, sending him in such blinding pain that he fell off the side of the ship, into the sea. The next thing he knew, he was on the shores of Neverland.

He'd made a name for himself, taking over the previous Captain of the Jolly Roger. At some point in the hazy past, the little pest had appeared on the isle, and demanded to fight. He was bored – after all, there was no true loot on the isle that he craved, and the Indians were too primitive to provoke.

He would amuse himself by sparring with the boy.

To his surprise, the little blighter could fly (with the help of the faeries, he'd found out later), and soundly beat him, parrying and flying out of his lunges and swipes. The little cheat.

In one of their fights, the boy had succeeded in cutting off his hand. He'd fed his appendage to the crocodile, the pompous, prideful child. And the reptile had gobbled it up, and having memorized his scent, hunted him.

This Neverland place had changed him. He had gotten over the changes in his blood – it had turned from a very human crimson to an unearthly shade of yellow. However, it was his inability to die that had bothered him. When Peter had fed him to the crocodile (the nemesis that was more dangerous and more feared than Peter), he had undergone excruciating pain as the crocodile devoured him, and felt the cold grasp of seawater flood his lungs. As he was pulled further and further into the depths, everything had gotten darker and darker, until he passed out in agony.

The next thing he knew, he was back on the beaches of Neverland, in the same spot where he had first arrived on the island. His hand was, sadly, still missing, but nothing else had changed.

Peter, the stupid fool, had pitted him against the crocodile, in a never-ending cycle of death and regeneration. He could not kill the dastardly reptile, nor could the beast kill him entirely. It was the boy's fault that he couldn't die.

And the girl had been brought back. He finally had some leverage, ever since Peter's pesky little faerie died.

* * *

Peter had no idea why Wendy was all quiet. He had left her in peace, in the underground home, as he foraged for food.

Despite her silence though, he had felt Neverland become a little brighter with her near him. He was no longer constantly fighting Hook for the sake of riling him, nor brooding wherever it suited him. He had a companion who wasn't a naïve little Lost Boy, or ensconced amongst the wigwams, unable to move far, lest she danger herself or the child.

He slowly filled the little basket he had carried, trying to remember which berries Wendy had enjoyed the last time she was here. It didn't take too long, and the skies were only beginning to darken in Neverland as he returned to his underground dwelling.

Wendy was there, busily cleaning. She would always work herself into a state, and had said, when he'd asked her why she bothered, "It'd just get even dirtier if I didn't do it."

Which was true of course. He'd never cleaned up after himself, or the Lost Boys. The first time anyone had cleaned up after him was Wendy, and he wasn't complaining. She looked like she fit there, in Neverland; in his life.

He set the berries down and crept up behind her, planning to scare her. But she had just turned around, leaving a mere hair's width between his face and her. And she blushed prettily when his eyes met her swirling cerulean ones; the pink hue spreading, flushing scarlet on her alabaster cheeks.

His Wendy seemed to pause, to contemplate, before she closed those eyes and leaned forwards, her soft lips inviting his. Peter, without a beat, leaned in, and _kissed_ those sweet lips.

From the moment his lips touched hers, he knew he had missed the sizzling warmth that had coursed through his body. It spread throughout his body, to his chest, and, mysteriously, it stirred something deep within him.

It had been too long since she had first given him her _thimble_, and when he last _kissed_ her. He was going to make most of her time here – and this time, he'd try and make her _stay_.

* * *

Her dainty hands massaged her temples as she heard the front door slam, signalling Millicent's rather annoyed departure from the Darling house. The woman had come in, guns blazing, and interrogated her.

She took a strengthening sip of Lady Grey, quickly cooling in her teacup, and gazed at the dent in the sofa where Millicent had plonked herself. The _harridan_ had accused her of wilfully sabotaging her plans of snagging Wendy a place among the elite.

"You wouldn't want your daughter to marry some _nobody_!"

Millicent had questioned incessantly about who this Peter was, whether he of gentle breeding, and all those questions that were only important to those seeking an alliance of great families. Not truly questions for a choice from the heart - if there were to be any questions asked at all.

She hadn't dared to tell Millicent that Wendy had chosen Peter many years ago, before this whole debacle. She had already thrown a wrench in the works by mentioning Peter to Gavin, in her giddiness.

Millicent had threatened to tell her husband that she'd been trying to hinder their efforts. By marrying Wendy off to someone like The Honourable Mr. Gavin Smith-Goddard, George would be exposed to more elite and rich clientele, which had been sorely lacking in the last couple of years.

Her husband had expressed the need to earn more, given they had more children to feed. She couldn't begrudge his desire to improve their situation – they had to slowly let some of the staff go, and began to scrimp and save on the little things that didn't used to matter. And things weren't looking any brighter; he came home even later than he used to, and looked completely worn to the bone every night.

He wanted the best for the boys, even though some were only adopted.

However, she would not thank him for forcing Wendy into such a position. If Wendy had known the truth, she would have thrown herself in as sacrifice.

As Wendy's mother, she had extricated promises from both her husband and her sister-in-law not to mention a word to Wendy. She would not strip the last vestiges of youthful girlhood from her.

Mary Darling only just hoped that by the time she returned, she might finally have gotten closure. Being flung back into reality might spur her daughter… Who was she kidding?

She was delaying the inevitable. Wendy's time in Neverland was _borrowed time_.

* * *

A/N: Reviews reviews review! It's what makes me (and many other authors) happy bunnies and write faster!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I'm so sorry this took forever to put up! Hopefully you guys haven't thought I've abandoned this story again - it's just life got quite busy, and I finally got to sit down and write. To make up for it, this chapter is slightly longer than the ones I've posted lately.

Many thanks to enchantedsleeper, Zorra Reed and sultal for reviewing!

* * *

**Chapter 5**

* * *

"And now we rise  
And we are everywhere" – _From The Morning_ by Nick Drake

* * *

"That was icky."

_"What do you mean?"_

"Why would a big bad pirate like Piers want to kiss someone like Cinderella? Where's the adventure? I thought there were going to be fights, treasure, evil guardians…"

_"It's all part of the story, dear. Don't worry – we'll get to the fighting soon…"_

"I don't like all this kissing. It's gross."

* * *

It was an _accidental_ kiss. She was sure of it. After all, she had only spun around at an inopportune moment when he was right behind her, and their lips had only met. They had brushed, and immediately, she had felt the fires that had fanned her soul.

Her insides melted like wax, softening, melting into a puddle in front of the boy, no, _man_, she would always love.

It was a shame he didn't love her back. And with that, she stepped back, just as he leaned forwards.

He stumbled forwards slightly in surprise, but stopped himself before he fell on the earthen floor. Looking up at her with confusion, Wendy wanted to pick him up and _kiss _him. But she shouldn't. She _mustn't_.

"What was that for, Wendy?"

He was either thick… or had become one of those devious, unscrupulous rakes who notoriously preyed on innocent _ton _ladies. She highly doubted it was the latter – after all, it was Peter, who had grown up in Neverland.

Neverland would never become as cutthroat as London. And London would never be as dreamlike as Neverland. Peter was probably still unaware about the little mind games and half-truths that plagued the _ton_.

"You can't give kisses around if you're promised to someone. What would Tiger Lily say?"

He looked positively stumped.

"Tiger Lily? Why would she care?"

Was there no such thing as monogamy in Indian cultures? His apathy to what had just had happened _between them_, knowing that Tiger Lily was interested in him, and that they were possibly promised to each other…

"She's got a little one coming along the way, not that her husband…"

The moment the word _husband _slipped out of Peter's lips and washed over Wendy, it felt like a breath of fresh air. She had completely missed out what he had said next – she was basking in the freedom her heart felt as the truth swept the misgivings and doubt away.

_Tiger Lily is married_.

She was thrown out of her reverie by Peter waving his hand in front of her face. "Are you alright, Wendy?" he asked, his darling face morphing into a worried frown. Immediately, he'd placed his hands, his very _manly_ hands, gently on her forehead.

Smiling, Wendy shook her head, as she took his hands off her forehead and into her own.

* * *

It had been a week. A week, and no sign of Wendy.

According to his mother and the ladies of the _ton_, Mrs. Millicent Byrne had been overstaying her welcomes at the various parties and _rendezvous_ that he had requested the Byrnes (and thus, the Darlings) to be invited to. He had his mother to thank for that – some of these invitations were personal favours; others required a little more wrangling.

However, Wendy did not show up to a single one of them in the week. Her aunt, on the other hand, had attended each one with outfits of increasing tawdriness. Why, his mother had noticed the woman attempting to pull off a new-fangled _kimono_ from the Orient at a formal dinner party at the Nevenses'.

"Deplorably loose, to the point where everyone could see the bodice underneath," his mother had sniffed immediately after the party. "Is this Wendy worth it? If you were to be married to her, we'd be related to that disgraceful harridan!"

Gavin was sure his mother would change her mind. She only needed to look at Wendy, and to hear her speak her straightforward mind; not some dilly dally fluff that all the debutantes these days spewed. The young _ton_ ladies and their mothers in the marriage mart were nothing but flakes; pretty, but lacking in substance.

He remembered the first time he had met his Wendy, at the McIntyres'. It was a wholly plain affair, with the lady of the house hosting a 'cocktail' party without truly understanding that it involved the _consumption_ of mixed alcoholic beverages. Instead, it was almost an antiquated event, with some mingling over the hors d'oeuvres with some bland aperitif before settling down for a waltz.

In the case of The _Honourable _Mrs. Millicent Byrne, and other women of her calibre, it involved touting (though not at crassly as blatantly shouting like a fishmonger's wife), their daughters or wards to the eligible males at the party. And he, being one of the most eligible males in the marriage mart, had been one of the men surrounded by hordes of girls barely out of the schoolroom and their status-greedy mamas. To each one, he was cordial, but dismissive. He was not interested in little porcelain dolls – pretty on the outside, fragile, and filled with nothing but fluff and air on the inside.

It was also turning into a wasted night, given the lack of entertainment and the large numbers of liberals tottering around. Anarchists, nihilists, socialists were swarming the event – the people who threatened the way of life that had been in England for as long he could remember. These were the budding youths, having been educated in the wealth and luxury of their parents, strove to undermine them with talk of balancing out the 'haves' and 'have-nots'.

Utter balderdash. To escape having to argue with these _liberals_, he had taken to roaming the halls of the manor.

He had wandered about their stately home, and came upon a delightfully dressed faerie in green, her dress pooled around her as she spoke with the McIntyres' children. Her voice, angelic and musical, were weaving a spell over the children (who really should have been in their nursery), spinning a fairytale of pirates and adventure. The children were in thrall of her voice, hanging on the edge of every word, every description.

It was only then, when he had entered the room, that she noticed him. In that moment, he had broken the spell, and the children had scampered off back to the nursery. He was left with the green faerie, who had flushed red and became all blustery.

"I do hope you won't tell their parents they were up and out of their nursery," she had enunciated, each word a drop of treacle from her honeyed lips. "They were awfully well-behaved and only wanted a bedtime story."

If she had asked him to bring her treasures from the Orient, or even travel to the moon and back with that voice, he would have done so. But he needed to know the name of his mysterious nymph.

"It was a good story after all," he spoke with a smile, and to that, she blushed, her cheeks tinting in a flattering shade, "What is your name, if I may be so bold?"

"Wendy."

A beautiful name for a beautiful sylph. "And I am Gavin," he had replied in turn, and when his name did not register in her eyes, he realized he had found a rare gem.

He had assumed that there were no girls, or their mamas at _ton_ parties who still did not know him as his title, or his family, or the amount of wealth behind his name. To find one, as beautiful and graceful as a woodland nymph in a dress of green, was indeed a boon.

"Perhaps you would like me to escort you back to the ballroom, dear Wendy?"

She nodded, and took his proffered arm, as he guided them back towards the ballroom. With his faerie at his side, the girls and their mamas would not be as bold as to approach him with proposals. However, he had not counted on his dear Wendy having a galling relative either.

"Wendy Darling! I have been searching for you everywhere!" screeched her termagant of an aunt, as she bustled towards them, "Where have you been?"

But as she looked at him, with Wendy clutching his arm, she immediately changed her tone and expression. "Ah, Mr. Smith-Goddard," she preened, "I see you've met my darling niece."

Afterwards, he had been interrogated by the harridan as to where he had found Wendy – he had spun a tale of finding her in the sitting room with a good book, rather than with the children, and told the woman they had started talking from thence.

"I hope to see you more often, Miss Darling," he had said, when she and her aunt were leaving the party. And he had, given her aunt's obsession with foisting her niece upon him, and his manipulation of guest lists.

His Wendy, however, had been absent for a week. Given her aunt's desire to pair them off, it seemed unlikely that this _Peter_ fellow had her blessings. Mrs. Darling, on the other hand, seemed to like this _Peter_. Wendy had never mentioned the name, which bothered him. She was never coy, or sly, like some of the jaded older ladies of the _ton_.

Was this _Peter_ a recent addition to her life? Was she leaning towards this fellow more than towards him? After all, he had been a little too bold that night. Did that mean he had scared her off with his boldness?

He had no idea who this Peter was – he had no surname, and could very easily be a nobody. Or even a scoundrel of the worst sorts, preying on the young and naïve. Was he oozing charm like a rake, ready to pounce when Wendy showed signs of weakness?

There were all these questions about this new beau that needed to be answered. Perhaps a visit to a private detective was needed.

* * *

Faraway, on a ship moored along the coast, a pirate captain began setting his plans in motion. His heart raced as he imagined the penultimate peak; the end of Pan, the pain of death, loss and betrayal rendering his soul into nothingness.

The boy would die, very literally, of a broken heart. After all, it was near impossible to die physically, by being skewered, or, as he could attest to, being consumed slowly by the devious crocodile. His soul had to be rent; to be torn irreparably; so there was nothing a physical body could come back to.

As dark as his heart was, as evil as he was, Captain James Hook still had a soul. It was not a gentle, clean soul – it was far from it. But it was a soul nonetheless, and with the impossibility of heartbreak for a man such as him, his body would regenerate, even if he expired from drowning, or being eaten by the crocodile.

It was pure serendipitous luck he had come across this fact. One of his pirates, some idiot he could not remember the name of, had crossed the Faerie Queen and her entourage. Even he, the great Pirate Captain, would not disturb the Faerie Queen, as she was very powerful in her own right, even if he had encouraged people to not believe in them. She had still held on, her powers still active, albeit weakened, when he had encouraged the mass culling of the pests.

However, she had recovered, and the foolish man who had decided to attack her and her minions started stating his disbelief in faeries. As if one pirate could knock out the Faerie Queen and a group of faeries! When he had started enunciating the words, and some of the faeries had started to waver, the Faerie Queen had taken over.

With magic, the pirate had collapsed, and a wisp had emerged, with the image of the pirate. Its mouth had contorted into a shadow of a scream, as the wisp was slowly torn apart by invisible forces. In its final moments, a faint banshee scream was heard from the undiscernible mist, before it dissipated into the air like smoke.

This had been reported to him by the pirate's companion, who had remained hidden as his foolhardy partner had accosted the Faerie Queen. He did not believe him – perhaps his partner had decided to sneak off, and like all pirates, would come skulking back to the Jolly Roger once he decided he missed the ship and the pirates.

But he never returned. His shell of a body had remained on the path where he had attacked the Faerie Queen. There was no soul to tether the regeneration of the body to, and he had simply left the plane of existence, never to return to Neverland.

Peter Pan was going to die. And his greatest mistake was bringing the girl to Neverland.

* * *

A/N: Critiques and reviews = happy author


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: A longer update for all of you :)

**In response to Butterfly Dreamer 767**: The ton is essentially a term for 'high society', which includes nobility, peers etc. It's from the Regency era, which means it's not really used by the Edwardian era - but I'm not really sure what other term to use, so I've just stuck to that. However, the Season (which is when all these social elites have dinners, parties, events etc.) still exists, but its heyday was back in the 19th Century. Just adding a bit of background to London at the time which might be helpful.

Many thanks to Butterfly Dreamer767, enchantedsleeper, Guest and DawnCat2476.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

* * *

"Fear makes us feel our humanity." – Benjamin Disraeli

* * *

By the end of the week, Wendy could not believe she had lingered in Neverland for that long. All their adventures and treks had passed by like a whirlwind; from visiting the mermaids in their lagoon to finally having a meal with the rest of the tribe, and finally meeting Tiger Lily. Her previous jealousy towards the Indian Princess had melted away, with warmth of motherhood enveloping Tiger Lily warming Wendy's own heart.

As Tiger Lily passed her swaddled babe to Wendy, her own heart fluttered. The babe, swaddled with the tribe colours in the softest fabric the Wendy had ever touched, mewled peacefully as his mother passed him to Wendy. Peter looked on, noting the dewy look in Wendy's eyes as she sang English lullabies, rocking the babe gently.

Wendy, while rocking the babe, imagined the babe to be her own. Hers and Peters – with errant curls and sparkling sapphire eyes, giggling as she sung him lullabies that her own mother had sung to her when she was young…

Her mother. Her family. She wondered how they were doing in London. Had a week passed by there, just as a week had passed by in Neverland?

Were the boys doing fine in boarding school? Was Father still coming back late from work, looking gradually more tired and worn every day? And was mother still worrying after everyone, while fending off Aunt Millicent and her overbearing attitude?

Suddenly, screams erupted from behind the collective tepees behind her, and Wendy instinctively clutched the babe towards her breast. The babe was not hers – and when she realized this, she hurriedly relinquished him to his mother.

"Pirates. Run, Tiger Lily!" shouted Howling Moon, Tiger Lily's husband, who had just emerged from the bushes.

The faint noises of war cries and the clanging of cutlasses grew louder and louder. "We need you, Pan," spoke Howling Moon, as he watched Tiger Lily run towards the caves, "The pirate captain has been calling your name… and hers." He looked pointedly at Wendy.

"I'll deal with Hook, Howling Moon," Peter said, as he started to remove his sword from the scabbard at his waist, "Just like I always do."

The dark onyx hair on Howling Moon's head flicked in the wind, and his dark eyes bore into Wendy's, "What of her?"

"Join Tiger Lily in the caves, Wendy." His voice was so authoritative, so _commanding_, that Wendy was distinctly reminded of her father and aunt, back in conservative London. Was it no different in Neverland?

She shook her head. "I can go with you!" she argued, "I can handle a weapon myself!"

When Peter looked like he was going to rebut her, she added, "Plus, Hook wants to see me too!" She didn't; but she knew Peter was always going to have her back.

They made their way towards the centre of the tepees, where Hook and his cronies were assembled, in their rag-tag formation of attack. Wendy shivered as Hook's piercing dark eyes looked into her, almost if the villain could read her mind.

"What do you want, Hook?" Peter had walked up towards the group, ahead of both Howling Moon and Wendy, brandishing his blade.

Hook laughed, his curled dark hair bouncing and reflecting the light from the flames. "Why, my boy, just a spar with you! It has been a while, after all." And with that, his cutlass swung out, to meet Peter's blade.

It had become a duel between the two of them, with the cold sea wind blowing stronger and stronger across the tepees. With each blow that Peter swung at Hook, he parried it with ease, but ineffectually attacked Peter. It was more like a game to him, where they were dancing around while dealing blows.

A moue of annoyance found its way on Peter's face – he could not fly and attack Hook, without exposing both Howling Moon and Wendy to rest of the pirates. And thus, he was stuck fighting Hook on the ground, without the benefits of flying.

"So, Wendy, how old are you now? Sixteen, seventeen perhaps?" Hook asked almost conversationally while blocking a lunge from Peter.

"Sixteen."

Underneath his moustache, his lip curled with distaste. "Sixteen? A young lady like you should be married soon! Back in my day, you'd be, unless you were planning on being a dry old spinster or living in sin…"

Angrily, Peter thrust his sword, but it was knocked off again by Hook, who continued to goad Wendy.

"Enough!" In a flash, catching Hook mid-laugh, shearing a chunk of his beard. The devil had dared to say that Wendy _had_ to be married, and the only person who was even likely to do so was that _character_ back in London. The snake had dared to lie through his teeth; he _said_ he wanted a spar, but he wanted to hound Wendy.

When he had realized what Peter had done, Hook's eyes blazed angrily and charged forward. "How dare you!" he screamed, almost foaming at the mouth, as he began to attack Peter with blows of increasing power and speed.

"The cap'n had just mentioned this morning it was the best length yet," muttered Smee, which caused Hook to fly further into a rage. Riposte after riposte, with Peter barely blocking each one and attempting to attack him.

The dark pile of curls lay in the corner of the fighting grounds, and Wendy snuck towards it. No one would see her – everyone was focused intently on the vicious fight between Peter and Hook, ignoring her and the shorn part of Hook's beard.

Hoping that it would work, she ran to the edge of the Indian encampment, overlooking the great sea. The breeze was blowing out to the sea, and using the breeze, she threw Hook's beard into the air, watching the wind carry it down, gently, into the brackish waters below.

When she had made her way back to the duel, Peter had been backed into a group of tepees, and was going to be forced to tear in them to escape Hook. His feet were kicking into the fabric and the pegs, until the unmistakable noise reached their ears.

_Tick. Tock. Tick tock._

"Blasted animal!" growled Hook, retreating, "How could it have possibly tracked me here?"

The pirates behind him shuffled uneasily, and began to run back to the ship. They did not want to risk the crocodile, or their Captain's wrath.

"I'll be seeing you very soon, Pan," hissed James Hook, before he disappeared into the shadows with his crew. There was still time, and the ball was rolling. Pan would soon be dead.

* * *

"And Piers won again! The Dread Pirate can't ever beat him!"

_"Well, that remains to be seen_..."

"Didn't the Dread Pirate say he'd see Piers again? Would they fight again?"

_"Of course. They're mortal enemies, darling."_

"What does that mean?"

_"It means they'll fight to the death if they must._"

* * *

"What do you have for me, Smythe?" The nervous, bespectacled man in front of his desk fretted, unsure of himself.

"Well, sir, I've come up with nothing regarding this Peter and Miss Wendy Darling."

Gavin spun around, his grey eyes glaring at Smythe. Putting down his snifter, he took a fortifying breath. "I pay you good money to be my private detective, Smythe. How difficult is it to find out where Wendy is, and who this Peter fellow is?"

Smythe's hands – not neatly manicured like his – began fiddling with the hem of his worn overcoat. "According to the Darling's maid, Wendy retired to her room at night, and the next morning she had gone. No luggage, no bags, nothing."

Rubbing his chin, Gavin began to feel the growth of stubble. His valet, Angus, would need to give him a shave later. "And this maid has no idea where Wendy has travelled to? Has she ever seen a Peter before?"

"No on both counts, sir. Apparently the missus had told her not to worry about Wendy, and that she would be back when she was ready."

Curious. So no one knew where Wendy was, or who _Peter_ was, except for Mrs. Darling.

A knock came from the door, and his valet quietly slipped into the study. "A letter from Mrs. Byrne."

And now a letter from the harridan. His day could not get any better. Sighing, he read the correspondence.

Smythe let out the breath he was holding as he watched Mr. Smith-Goddard's frown morph into a smile. He would not be grilled about his failings today – his employer had just received some good news.

"It appears Miss Darling has returned to London, Smythe." Or not. He might still be in trouble with his employer for failing to pick this up.

"I think you do not have to look for where she's been, Smythe. Rather, I want you to focus on finding out who this Peter is. Have you checked the registries?"

"For the landed gentry, yes. But none that have cropped up are of Miss Darling's acquaintance."

"Good. I want you to double check again, and then start looking through the common registries. I want to find out who exactly this Peter is, what he does, where he lives, how he knows Wendy…"

"Of course. I will let you know as soon as I find anything." With that, Smythe slipped out the door.

Gavin's smile grew wider. The Honourable Mrs. Millicent Byrne had _assured_ him that he would be seeing Wendy very shortly. He had questions to ask his _darling_ Wendy.

* * *

It had been nightmarish to convince Peter to let her return to London for even a week. When Hook had spoken about marriage, spinsters and 'living in sin', Wendy began to feel the weighty power of guilt.

She had been selfish. She had dropped down everything; her life in London; just at a moment's notice from Peter. And now she had to deal with a fretting mother and a virago of an aunt.

"How could you possibly disappear like that, Wendy!" fumed her aunt, "Especially with this Peter boy! What if he was disreputable? A rake?"

Mrs. Darling tried to calm her sister-in-law with tea and cakes. "I can assure you, Peter is not a rake. I've met the boy once."

"And what if Wendy has been 'compromised'? What will we do then?"

Dead silence filled the room. Millicent Byrne's face was red with anger, while Mrs. Darling's face reddened with shame and embarrassment.

"Compromised?" Her confusion was evident, causing Mrs. Darling's face to flush even more.

Mrs. Byrne stepped in. "Have you lain with the boy, Wendy? Carnally."

All three faces in the sitting room were now crimson, clashing horribly with the greens in the Darling's sitting room.

"No, Aunt Millicent. I would never do such a thing!" Wendy sputtered.

Millicent Byrne gave a little sniff. "You best forget that Peter boy, Wendy. I hope you know how much impending nuptials with Gavin would mean to _all of us_."

Wendy watched as her mother buried her face into her hands in confusion. Did her mother want her to marry Gavin as well? But why did she make it sound like she always had an option other than Gavin?

Mrs. Darling, felt the dead weight of self-loathing in her chest. She bitterly hated Millicent for putting her into such a position, with such a self-satisfying smile plastered on her face. But it was inevitable – Wendy was to find out sooner or later.

It was a shame there were no fortifying wine or spirits nearby. She dearly needed it to gather the courage to speak to her daughter.

"Wendy, you know how your father has been working hard for us; even more so for the last couple of years?"

"Since the boys came," added Millicent Byrne unhelpfully, "You had more mouths to feed."

Silencing the shrew with a glare, Mrs. Darling added, "He had been working so much he's becoming ill, dear. On top of that, he's being losing customers, and we may have to start owing debts…"

"I know, mother."

She had known of course, deep down. All the signs were there – Father was always coming home late, the slow downsizing of their staff. Even the presence of Aunt Millicent was a sign – she was around to alleviate the financial problems and properly present Wendy to the _ton_.

"You'd be lucky if Mr. Smith-Goddard still had an ounce of interest in you still," groused Aunt Millicent, "Considering no one has heard a peep from you in a week!"

Mrs. Darling was at the end of her rope with Millicent. If the woman spoke any more cutting remarks to her daughter, she would do something _unladylike_ and something she'd most likely regret. "I'd like to speak to my daughter alone," she enunciated, "Please, Millicent."

With a huff, the larger woman left the sitting room. But not before nabbing a scone from the table.

Wendy watched at her mother's eyes followed her aunt's figure leave the room, before she turned to her. "What can Peter offer you that Gavin cannot?"

So her mother was really cheering for Gavin. "I… have feelings for Peter already."

"But can Peter save us from financial ruin? You know how the boys are too young to be earning money themselves, and I will not send the Lost Boys to the workhouses."

Wendy sighed desolately.

"Can he even raise a family with you? Could he even be a father?"

Wendy hesitated. Peter never seemed like he could behave like a true father – not like her own father.

"We rarely marry for love, and fondness often creeps up and grows over the years." Mrs. Darling gesticulated, and Wendy gasped. She had always assumed her parents had married for love.

Mrs. Darling exhaled softly and patted her daughter on the back. "At least Gavin is very fond of you. Perhaps it can grow into love. But firstly, we need him to get our fortunes back on track."

"But mama, what of Peter?"

Mrs. Darling's hand tightened on Wendy's shoulder. "I don't want to be the one to tear you apart, but I'm afraid that forgetting Peter is probably the best thing to do."

Wendy's heart despaired, but she knew that she had to. She could no longer be selfish.


End file.
